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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641593">to be the one who survived</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saquashing/pseuds/saquashing'>saquashing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pain, Sad Ending, Sad Wilbur Soot, Trauma, no happy ending, supportive philza &amp; crew, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:21:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saquashing/pseuds/saquashing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what happens when the one person wilbur needs, dies?</p>
<p>// please read through all tags before reading</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to be the one who survived</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>in exactly 2 weeks it will be the one year anniversary of my best friend passing away. it wasn't a car accident that took her, but you get the point. </p>
<p>i honestly don't expect anyone to read this, it's purely me coping with the anniversary nearing.</p>
<p>reminder to tell your loved ones you love them while you still can.</p>
<p>i love y'all </p>
<p>ps, i typed this all from my phone and most of it at 4am. pls excuse the mistakes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I'm coming, George!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur ran through their large house, golden eyes shining with mirth and a large grin plastered on his strawberry lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grabbing his keys, he stopped at the front door, admiring the short stature of his love, his hands padding across his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George merely rolled his eyes, cheeks dancing with the faintest arrays of pinks and reds, sun spots and faint freckles painted on the bridge of his nose and apples of his cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simply put, he was angelic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur would describe himself as a lot of things, a musician, of course. An old soul, sure. But, never once did he describe himself as shy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, looking at the way George's honeyed irises glittered with adoration, all words left his lips and his composure melted away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was his muse, his reason for living, his sun and his moon and his fresh morning breeze through their flower bed in the front lawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur would still the seven seas if that's what it took to make George happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George raised an eye and cleared his throat, breaking Wilbur from his reverie. His cheeks were stained like freshly-harvested cherries, deepening with each second. Wilbur wondered if his lips tasted as sweet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We're already late, Wilbur, stop daydreaming and let's go,” George chastised, involuntarily licking his lips as he grew more flustered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur adored how easy it was to make him blush, and he thanked the universe every day that he was able to do so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you forgot something,” Wilbur replied, heart beating quicker as George's eyebrows furrowed and he padded the pockets of his jeans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning forward, Wilbur threaded his fingers through his dark brown hair, and pulled him close. He always had to look straight down to reach George's lips, and as much as the latter complained about it, he found their height difference incredibly endearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was right, George did taste just as sweet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally pulled away, breathless, he took a mental image of George’s foggy eyes and parted lips, wanting to savor this moment, well, every moment, with him for eternity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You're ridiculous…” George whispered, eyelids half shut and hands twisting in Wilbur’s jumper, trying to bring him back. Wilbur grabbed George’s hands, gently pulling them away and smiling as he pouted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, Gogy,” Wilbur opened the door, offering him his outstretched elbow to link his arm, “We're late, we have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George huffed, reluctantly taking his arm and shutting the door behind them. Wilbur waited for him before continuing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You're lucky you're cute,” George grumbled, leaning his head against Wilbur’s upper arm as he led them to his car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gentle breeze pushed them closer, hands clasping tighter and body heat sharing. Though it wasn't cold, George always was, and Wilbur was a human furnace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were perfect for each other. Complimenting where the other lacked. George helped Wilbur breathe, he helped him calm his mind and focus on what was important. Wilbur helped George destress and brought him out of his shell, making sure he was comfortable at all times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where Wilbur was creative, George was practical. Where George liked to take his time, Wilbur preferred getting tasks done as soon as possible. Like yin and yang, they melted together into one. If Wilbur believed in them, he might've even called them soulmates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too bad sometimes soulmates just aren't meant to be. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Ringing. Ringing was all Wilbur could hear. He wasn't sure if it was from the blunt force trauma, his phone, or the obnoxious heart monitor he was hooked up to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room was filled with nurses, doctors; so many people were talking to him and yet there wasn't the one person he wanted to see. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the next round of people tried to touch him to ‘check his vitals’ he smacked them away. He was fine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But where was George? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hours passed, and at some point, Phil and Kristin joined him. He wasn't quite sure when. He wasn't quite sure of anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is George?” He asked, to anyone who he could. It was the only thing he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> ask. It was the only thing he could think about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he was fine, and that meant George was fine too. Right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to remember what happened, but it was fuzzy. He remembered the kiss, the way George melted in his touch, and the way he laughed at how the Hamilton soundtrack was already playing when they got in the car. But then it went blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is George?” He asks again. This time, someone answers him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gentle hand touched his wrist, there's a look shared between doctors, and finally, “I'm so sorry, he didn't make it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur smiled. He laughed. He laughed so hard that his bruised ribs screamed in pain and the room spun. Because this was too funny. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was alive. George wasn't. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The laughter melted into sobs. The smile turned into a shaky gasp. Wilbur couldn't breathe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was as if the air around him turned to poison, suffocating him, drowning him. His hands clawed at his side, desperate for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to bring him out of this nightmare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because that's what it was, right? Just a nightmare? Something he could escape from, and realize that it was a bad dream, sure, but George was still alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sides bled, and the obnoxious beeping increased. Hands clasped his wrists, voices begged him to stop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- I, I can't do this, I can't do this without him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His chest burned and his head pounded, he let out a guttural cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The tears dried on his cheeks as apathy took hold, shielding him from himself, from feeling. His hands stilled on the wrinkled bedding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His reason for living wasn't alive anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil grabbed his hand, his own eyes rimmed with red and his chest shaking with each breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but you have to.” </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Has anyone told Dream?” Wilbur asked, his voice raw but otherwise numb. The tears had long since stopped, and he stared at the beige hospital room dejectedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sapnap? Quackity? Does anyone know but us? What about his family?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His mom is on her way in from London, she'll be here shortly,” Phil responded, chewing his lip, “As for everyone else, she agreed, we wanted to see what you wanted to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell them,” He said flatly, tilting his head and looking for his phone, “It should be me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will,” Phil soothed, rubbing his wrist, “You went through extreme trauma, too. You don't have to put this kind of pressure on yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up at the man, eyes burning as he refused to let himself cry, “It needs to be me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil caved, and brought him his phone, staying by his side as he dialed Dream’s number. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the second ring, there was an answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur! Hello! I was just trying to get a hold of George,” Dream greeted, the faint laughter of Sapnap in the background. Wilbur swallowed thickly. Dream continued, “Is everything alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat of silence passed, then another. Finally, Wilbur cleared his throat, “Are you home? With Sapnap?” When Dream confirmed, he continued, “Put me on speaker, and uh, sit down for this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Wilbur?” Dreams voice was eerily calm, like his own. He heard Sapnap's laughter stop, probably focused on Dream's shifted voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can both of you hear me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm so sorry,” He whispered, the hand holding his phone trembling. Phil rested his hand on his knee. “I'm so, so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Sapnap said, “What's going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped his phone, leaned over the bed and vomited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, guys, it's Phil…”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur was terrified. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George's mother wanted to see him, and he felt sick. He was the reason her son was gone, he was the reason they went out, all of this was on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil and Kristin left him to go get him some food, and as pathetic as he felt, he wished he still had Phil by his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The quiet seemed a lot more lonely than he remembered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't take long for George's mother to find his room, or maybe it did, he had no idea, the hours faded together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she stepped into his room, with shaky hands and red eyes, Wilbur lost every ounce of the resolve he had left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another round of sobs racked his chest. The pain of looking at his mother hurt worse than his ribs. He cried, and he apologized, barely distinguishable through his tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ran forward, immediately wrapping her arms around his chest. And for a moment, just a moment, Wilbur imagined that the person in his arms was George, rather than his mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling back, Wilbur winced. It was clear George had his mother's eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, I didn't know,” He whispered, lungs burning with each breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled, shaky and cheeks stained with tears, “How could you have known?” She brushed her hand through his knotted hair, “It was an accident.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur shook his head, but leaned into her touch, “I should have protected him… It was my fault we were late and in that position.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren't driving the other car, Will,” She soothed, sitting on the bed and pulling him into her warm embrace. Wilbur’s nose curled. She even smelt like George. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stayed like that, for hours. Eventually the rest of George's family joined them. Wilbur hugged them all, and he knew it was on him to help them through it as much as he could. He owed it to George.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>After he was released, he went back home. He remembered the day they moved in, how George's eyes lit up as he talked about how he wanted to put wildflowers in the front flower beds. Wilbur wanted roses, but Wilbur also loved George. They grew wildflowers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil helped him out of the car and up the driveway, Wilbur’s injuries making his movements lethargic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dream, Sapnap and everyone will be landing soon, they'll take…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words fell on deaf ears as Wilbur could only focus on the flowers. He stopped in his tracks, staring them down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The once vibrant array of flowers were duller now, everything was duller. The petals were wilting, marked with bites from insects and other imperfections. Like they knew George was what kept them alive, and knew he was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked back to Phil, whose face radiated pity. Anger burned in his chest, pity was the last thing he wanted. From anyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So what if George was dead? So what if he had to go back to their home, alone, and be surrounded by everything that reminded him of them? So what if he was now completely and utterly alone, impatiently waiting for a miracle that would never come?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled sharply as reality set in. He was alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They moved to the door, Phil taking the keys and unlocking it, carefully opening it and guiding him inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was taunting him, the coat rack where George always left his jackets, opting to steal Wilbur’s instead. The shoes that were kicked by the doorway, instead of on the rack that Wilbur got for that exact purpose. Even the walls, which they spent hours in the store finding the right paint for, ended with George saying, “I don't care, I'm colorblind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How was he supposed to face years of memories, knowing that they were all he would get? He regretted not asking him out sooner, not showering him with kisses at every opportunity, and most of all, leaving the house days before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart pounded in his chest, his arms practically vibrating trying to contain his emotions. It was all so much, so so much. And yet, not nearly enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- I need to lay in bed, for a minute,” He mumbled, ignoring Phil’s concerned stare and careful response. If the entryway hurt, the bedroom was hell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was instantly hit with the faintest smell of his cologne. The pictures of them smiling, happy and carefree, mocking his every step. And then there was the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was roughly made, the blue duvet strewn haphazardly over the mattress. George made the bed last, clearly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he climbed onto the mattress, it was if a boulder slammed onto his chest, the smell of his shampoo against the pillows slamming into him like the car did days prior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears spilled from his eyes, falling onto the bedding and leaving darkened pools on the blue. He closed his eyes, imagining all the times he woke up, with George pressed against him, hair tickling his neck and chin. He remembered the late nights of loving kisses and soft touches. He remembered it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't feel real. This was the kind of thing that you saw on TV, it happened to other people, how could it happen to you? He wondered how many people saw the accident on the news, offered their half-assed condolences and then moved on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't have that luxury, moving on. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It didn't take much longer for George's friends from the states to arrive, some of their UK friends gathering at the house too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur plastered on a smile, pretending he was over it, pretending he was okay. He didn't need their concern. He was fine. Why was he allowed to be sad, when he was the one who survived? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all hugged him as they arrived, one by one offering their teary-eyed support. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was off-putting, really. They always had big plans of when they would all meet in real life, but here they were, without George, mourning his death.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had never seen Quackity so serious, or even imagined Sapnap crying before that day. He didn't know how to help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dream and Tommy stayed by his side, almost nonstop for days. Telling him stories of George that he hadn't heard before, and holding him when he cried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karl and Niki brought him cookies, snickerdoodles, forcing him to put </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quackity laid by his side in one of their guest bedrooms, rubbing a comforting hand and lulling him to sleep as he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't </span>
  </em>
  <span>face the bedroom again. Not yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held Sapnap’s hand as he stared at the pictures hanging on the walls, silent tears staining his tanned cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as much support as he had, he still felt alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he knew that eventually, they would all leave, the immediate crisis over, leaving him by himself in his big, empty house. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The funeral was nice. Tasteful, even. Dream, Wilbur and George's mother all spoke, before offering the mic to anyone with stories to share. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wreaths of flowers adorned the walls, picture frames and prized possessions mixed in as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sang a song to the casket, shaky fingers making strumming the guitar difficult, but he powered through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tears didn't stop streaming, the entire day. He was sure that eventually he had to run out, but that didn't seem to be the case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held George's mother as the casket was lowered into the ground, a chill breeze blowing their hair out of place and nipping their exposed skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only when it was completely lowered, did it fully occur to Wilbur. He was alone. This wasn't a bad dream. This was real. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, how was this real?</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>A month had passed now, Wilbur had stopped streaming. He barely answered his phone, always apologizing to Phil, Tommy, Dream or whoever was calling for not answering quicker. They always forgave him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Memorial edits and videos were made, by both creators and fans alike. Wilbur avoided them all until one day when he broke down and spent hours watching the clips of George smiling, laughing, messing around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It brought bittersweet tears to his face. That night, he slept in the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day, he made a video of his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clips of George and Wilbur, dancing and singing in the kitchen, bright grins plastered on their faces and not a worry in the world. There were clips from the ‘vlog’, where Wilbur had honestly fallen in love with the man. There were pictures, and audio clips and segments from streams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt cathartic to make, but as soon as he hit ‘post’ he broke down into tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't want to move on. Moving on meant a world without George. That was the last thing he wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would rather be haunted by his past than have a future without the man he loved. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The dreams came next. He had heard stories of people grieving, that sometimes the dreams came right after the trauma, but occasionally  the mind blocked it out for a while, trying to give time to heal. His was the latter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Brightside played on the radio, Wilbur had one hand on the steering wheel and one on George's knee, thumb rubbing small circles into the skin. They were both singing along, sharing small giggles and bright smiles.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>George turned to him, his eyes pooling with pure love and admiration. Wilbur had to pry his eyes back onto the road, his stomach swimming with unadulterated endearment.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wilbur,” George spoke, a hand brushing his and his lips placing feather-light kisses to his shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur sighed in contentment, waiting for him to continue. George pulled his lips from his shoulder, leaning back ever so slightly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let's get married.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His head snapped to the side, eyes widening and mouth falling agape. But before he could answer, a horn sounded and headlights shown into the passenger side window. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>George Henry Davidson, dead on arrival.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur woke up in a cold sweat, heart thundering in chest and a fresh batch of tears staining his cheeks. All healing he had achieved over the past months was thrown out the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran to the bathroom, throwing up the little contents of his stomach. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Coffee was the only thing that kept Wilbur going. As the amount of sleep he got lessened and lessened, he started relying on other things to keep him awake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't a fan of energy drinks, they made him feel nauseous. He even tried caffeine pills, but found that they gave him headaches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though it seemed like everything gave him headaches anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The TV was playing in the background as he fixed himself another cup of coffee. The TV was always playing. He couldn't handle the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want a cup?” He asked to the empty room, not expecting a response. But sometimes, it was just easier to pretend that George was still there, waiting for him in the other room. “Yeah, I didn't think so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone rang, for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day. He slammed the cup back on the counter, not even wincing when the hot liquid burned the back of his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned off his phone, and sat in front of the TV, not paying attention to the show one bit. A shadow moved in the corner of his eyes, and he smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can come watch with me,” He said, turning to the empty corner where he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>George was. He could feel it, he had to be there. His heart beat quicker, and he felt genuine happiness. He wasn't alone. George was back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I've missed you, a lot.” </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur knew it was selfish, to leave this way, to put his friends through this again. But he had seen first hand how supportive they had been, they would survive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He briefly wondered what memorial videos would be made of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, as he made the decision, heading down to the beach behind his house. The slight glimpses of shadows and the dreams weren't enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to see George again, and this was the only possibility of how. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't even sure he believed in the afterlife, but at the very least, he wouldn't have to be alive without him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He recalled the days spent on the beach with George, picnics on the shore, swimming, watching the waves crash against the rocks. It was where they shared their first kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How fitting was it that it would be where Wilbur would take his last breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a step into the cold water, a relieved grin tugging his lips. He wouldn't be alone anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm coming, George.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if anyone ever wants to talk, my inbox is always open and/or you can message my tumblr @slushiesforcar</p>
<p>this isn't my regular type of fic, so i apologize for that </p>
<p>if you did read this all the way though and want something more lighthearted, feel free to check out my other works :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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